Wretched Automation
by Draenog Glas
Summary: Mr. Rossok said that Patricia was once a bright and beautiful child before the Nazis took them to Auschwitz, where their lives were completely changed. With the help of Doctor Avian, Patricia is able again, at the cost of her sanity and her father's. AU.


_September 1943_

_Addressed to Doctor Avian of Anti-Skullgirls Laboratory_

Dear Doctor Avian,

We are Mr. And Mrs. Rossok, and we heard about your technology that you claimed would make the disabled able again. You even claim that you can bring a sensible mind to the retarded and build a brain filled with reason and logic to the insane. You see Dr. Avian, we wanted to try out your technology on our daughter, named Patricia (aged 4), because an unfortunate thing has happened to her, and we love her, very, very much. Hopefully hearing our story will let you allow us into your workshop and work on our child. Because something drastic has happened to us. Something that will change us, and our very souls, for the rest of our lives, and we're hoping you could bandage our wounds, allow the healing to begin on our long and pain-sodden journey to New York, in order to escape the Nazi regime over in Germany. We used to live in Brussels, but ever since Adolf Hitler has been brought to power as Fuhrer, he decided that the Jews were an inferior race that needed to be destroyed and extinct in order for the Aryan blood to flow throughout the world with its blond hair, blue eyes, and white pigmented skin that Hitler seems to be so fond of. We never trusted Hitler ever since we first heard of him, and right when he gained full power of the country, the Gestapo found us living innocently at home with our darling Patricia just barely saying with her weak, mournful voice, "Daddy, who are these people? Did we do something wrong?" And I said, "No, we haven't, darling. There's nothing wrong with being Jewish." But the Gestapo kicked at us on our backs and cursed in dirty German and pointed the guns at our heads (even our 2 year old daughter) and said that we were filthy scum and we needed to be eradicated according to the rule of Hitler, their all-mighty and powerful Fuhrer that they respected like an almighty God. Patricia cried, but I tried to quiet her tears and tell her everything was going to be alright, even if I knew that we could die from the metallic, cold fists of Hitler's regulations. I wanted to cry too Doctor Avian, but I tried not to show my tears to the Gestapo, because I knew they would only revel in my suffering.

We are Jewish, Doctor. As Jewish as Israel. As Jewish as what you would possibly say, lawyers and doctors and poppy seed bread and the ghettos of New York (which is where we are living right now, as we can barely afford a nice house to live with the American dream that everyone keeps boasting of, but we would rather take this than to live in Brussels again with those bastards sitting in the dark, waiting for any single lone Jew to walk into the streets where they would take them away to a camp). And yes, we were put into a train filled with lice-ridden and sick and depressed and lonely and hopeless Jews, the destination being Auschwitz. To Americans, camps mean being outdoors and getting a breath of fresh air and sitting in the campfire and roasting marshmallows. But Doctor Avian, in Germany camps were cold, desolate places stock full of Jews and the gays and the retarded all waiting for their deaths as they were shaved and being distributed like cattle, us being the marshmallows when Hitler's men would roast us in a oven once we died of being trapped like desperate animals in a cage of our lungs being filled with a lethal gas. We were subject to beatings and brutal torture, what was what unfortunately happened to our Patricia, only being two years old, a child with so much passion in her life, so much love, so much curiosity and fun and happiness, having her leg torn off in a cruel medical experiment that the Nazis claimed was going to advance and enrich the lives who didn't had our filthy blood and our filthy religion.

We were separated at different sections in the camp, the men being in one section and the women and children being in another, fenced in and our hands always trying to reach our wives and children and promising them a life full of peace and love with quiet voices after we got through this horrible, God forsaken predicament together, but even when I was in another fence, doing my toiling, heavy labor in the frigid snow with no hopes of being warmed up by anyone or anything, I swore I could hear my child scream bloody murder when they took her leg. The bastards took her leg, Doctor Avian. The bastards took it, just to use it as a souvenir. I saw the homes of the rich and privileged Nazis adorn their homes with lamp shades being made from the skin and flesh of the filthy sick blooded Jews, and even use their skulls as ashtrays when they thought it would put some splendor and flare in their homes. I'm sure they used her leg as a stand. And thinking of that Doctor Avian, I cry. I really do. Because Patricia's life was completely changed. Such a young girl shouldn't be subject to this torture. She should be having fun, making friends, having a vivid imagination and playing with flowers in our garden that we used to take care of before the Gestapo took us away, talking and hugging her stuffed peacock that my wife made for her since she was such a tiny and fragile infant, that before my daughter was taken away from us, the Gestapo burned it along with the rest of our belongings, and Patricia cried that her peacock shared so many secrets and so many hugs with her that she would never forgive these men for what they were doing to us. I believe that while Patricia was never a violent child who acted out, she said that she wished that Hitler and the Nazis would all drop dead and be subject to the same torture that we were going through, but I told her that an eye for an eye made the whole world blind. But then she replied that she wished she was blind, otherwise she would never see the evil man with the black charcoal teeth and the Nazi insignia tattooed to his chest take away her leg, and I cried. I really did.

Doctor Avian, while we could not forgive the Nazis for what they did to our spirit and our sanity, there was one who seemed to sympathize with us, and even felt sorry for our daughter, who was just 2 and right when she learned to walk on her feet, she ended up being lame and having to be carried by my wife to get anywhere. While I was spat in the bastards' face and told them to go to hell and I would never forgive them for what they've done to my precious and darling Patricia, one of them actually said to me, "Yes, I know, and I'm sorry about everything that happened. I wished that pain would go away for you. And it probably never will. You're right. But maybe I can help you, and maybe you can forgive me a little."

In case you are wondering about the man now Doctor Avian, he was beaten to death when the Nazis found out he had saved our lives and put us on a boat taking us to America, but the man actually referred you to us when he stuffed us into long, wide, and big pots strapped to the back of our truck, promising us that the Nazi bastards wouldn't look inside them and that once we were in America we could seek your help into helping our daughter and making her like a happy girl who had absolutely no worries at all in the world. It was dark inside the pots, and I could barely move my hands and feet, but even our daughter was completely quiet when he was talking to them about the recent happenings in Germany, even saying that he thought Hitler would save Germany and make it into a real country again. The only thing I could see other than the grained light lines made from the hands of the pot-spinner was the tarp, and I tried to hone in on my senses of what was happening in the world, and if the Nazis wouldn't suspect us of anything and give us a chance at living a second life free of pain and sorrow. Even as I think of this Doctor I am crying. Because there are many Jews who were not allowed at that second life that we were blessed with. Many of them died at the hands of Hitler. Many of my friends. Many of my coworkers. Many of people I could've gave a chance at knowing, but now they were gone, and I haven't even heard their voice or their name. And Patricia could've died at the hands of the Nazis. And I would've lost her like all those people, like all my friends and all my coworkers and all those people I wished to know. Patricia is a beautiful angel, her eyes adorned with blue china and beautiful brown hair that shines like silky ribbons and her laughter that rings and lightens up your heart as you delight her with her tea parties and my God Avian, you should hear her when she watches our small TV and watches cartoons. She loves them with all her heart. She laughs with such mirth and says that she wants to be as strong and as courageous as all those characters on the screen, and we always gather around the TV on Saturday mornings and laugh at the characters and the colorful show tunes that would burst from the speakers even if the screen was black and white. Patricia also loved her caretakers at daycare and her friends, even if we had to wear the Star of David on our dresses and shirts. She always dragged her stuffed peacock around and told us that peacock and she loved us very much with all her heart and his heart as well.

So when we came to America, we hoped that you would help us. We hoped that you would give Patricia a second chance at life, and give her the life she rightfully deserves. She cannot be in crutches for the rest of her life. Such a young child shouldn't deal with this pain. And we wished you could absolve it away.

We don't have very much money, as although the factories that hired us poor, dirt-sodden immigrants like us and give us such hard labor that I usually have to work 12 hours a day, I make very little money, and it's most likely not enough to help our daughter. But we will always be indebted to you and we pray that one day, everything will become very bright for our dear Patricia, and shining in all the colors of the tail of the peacock.

Please respond back to us. Even if you do not accept our case, please explain why, and we will understand.

You have the chance to change a child's life. And I'm begging you to take this opportunity and change everything for our beautiful and cherished Patricia, our lovely angel.

Sincerely,

Mr. Rossok

_February, 1944_

Dear Doctor Avian,

This is Mr. Rossok again. Thank you very much for replying back to us and agreeing to work on Patricia's case. We are eternally grateful that you decided to help us! No really, God bless you! When we told Patricia that you wanted to help her, the biggest smile was implanted on her face and she hugged me and told me "thank you, daddy, I love you". Patricia will always think of you for changing her life and for making everything so much better for her in the upcoming years. It is almost her birthday and she is getting ready to enter school for the first time, and I'm sure if you could give her the ability to walk again before then the other classmates wouldn't tease her or abandon her in their thoughts and inclusions simply because she has a disability.

Although that she cannot enter the workforce normally like men do and women generally stay in the home (though I do not see why not women could work in the same area as us), I know this will affect Patricia as I do not see men wanting to marry a woman who cannot cook clean and take care of children properly because of her missing limb, and I do not wish for that on any girl, especially if they were fortunate like us and escaped Germany and had the start of a second life in America. As Patricia continues to smile and play as if she is not missing a leg at all, like as if she is not missing a fragment of herself at all (God bless this poor girl), she often wonders why we had to suffer the way we did for a while before that kind man (who we soon heard was killed by the cruel fists of the Nazis) saved our lives and helped us be free of the Nazi regime. She wonders why the Nazis hate the Jews, she wonders why they wanted to do those things to her, and she always ask me everyday before she goes to bed and I tuck her in, "Does God love us?"

I tell her yes, God loves us very much, and He must if we were lucky enough to be alive today, but she says no, God hates us, because He made people such as the Nazis exist, He allowed Hitler to rise to power and He allowed those men to abuse her and treat her like spit even if she was only so young even if we thought we believed in the right religion, and she even thought we should renounce the Jewish fate because it made us weak and poor. And this shocked me. Because I never wanted our daughter to grow up believing that the Nazis were right all along and that Jews were inherently inferior to every other believer because they were given that kind of treatment. But I told her that the Christians were also treated that way by the Romans before Christianity became the most widely believed religion, that many believers are shunned for what they believed in, and that the evil Nazis had taken this to an extreme that possibly no one could ever repeat again in history (or so I hope to God not), but still she cried and wished to no longer be Jewish, and I hugged her and kissed her on the forehead and brushed her hair and looked into her china blue eyes and told her that things will start looking out for us, and I was right that God answered our prayers ad that you are helping us. Maybe Patricia will once again believe in our religion and believe that she never deserved the treatment she was given, that it is okay to never forgive the Nazis for what they did, and that one day we will make enough money to buy a new TV set and let her watch cartoons like she used to and play with brand new toys, and even afford enough fabric to make her a new peacock that she could bring around with her.

And it was enough to make her stop her tears, but I could still feel that something heavy was in her heart, and she fell asleep with a head full of troubles and possibly nightmares of the Nazis abusing her again. I know because she screamed one night and said the Gestapo was coming, the Gestapo was coming, and we had to run now before they took us back to Auschwitz. And once again Patricia's beautiful face was streaming with tears, as she wishes that the Nazis would be gone from the world for good so she will no longer have these awful dreams, she wishes Hitler was dead and she wishes that America will help us more, but I try to tell her that America is doing all it can to help us, but she still believes that the world will fall into deep darkness, that Hitler will rule all of the world, that all the Jewish would be wiped out and that the Aryans would be dominant in the world with their blond hair and blue eyes (And Patricia hates having that in common with the Aryans) and the windmill looking signs tattooed on their arms and saying everyday "heil Hitler the Fuhrer and may he reign forever". And I wish that one day, you can take away that fear from her, you can give her those days of happiness back when the Gestapo didn't rape her innocence away, and that you will give her the ability to shine like the sun like she used to, shine for all of us and her friends, because I used to remember Patricia back when she was full of life, bubbly and radiant, a smile that was sure to make you smile, her hyperactivity that made you have so much energy too, her games of airplane and pretend time and dress up, and I hope that these days will return to our beautiful daughter, because she deserves it so much, and I want to play with her again like we used to. Now she is much too worried about the Nazis taking over America, about her friends ostracizing her, about the fallen Jews back in Auschwitz who weren't as blessed as us. I wished I could bring her back to peace and back to relative safety. And I believe that you are the only one who can convince her that in the end, everything will be okay.

We will come to your lab and allow you to work on our daughter with your surgery and machines, as the Nazis have hurt her more than just her leg, but her arm doesn't work quite the way like other people's do and her eyes are nearly blinded when the Nazis have used chemicals to nearly burn out her eyes, in yet another wretched experiment. And I am grateful that this will be of no cost to us. You are doing great things for us, Doctor Avian. You will bring happiness and sunshine into our daughter's life again. Not to mention you can make her hope again.

Sincerely,

Mr. Rossok

_May, 1944_

Dear Doctor Avian,

The new leg augmentation was a success, and our own daughter can walk again. I cannot believe you have performed this miracle. I am blessed to meet that man that had saved me when we back at the camp that referred me to you, and Patricia thanks you too from the bottom of her heart.

She entered school with her new leg, and while she cannot see the other classmates clearly, they talk to her and wish to be friends with her. But yet I wish for her to have eyes that allow her to see her beautiful, doll-graced face, and I wished her arm would allow her to play games with the others. But yet you have still performed a miracle regardless, and we thank you.

I am sorry that I cannot say very many words on how grateful I am that you are able to perform these blessed operations on unfortunate people like Patricia, but I wished that you could come to our home and have a dinner with us. I was paid a little bit more in my job as I have since moved on to a factory with slightly better conditions and pay, and maybe if we still don't have a whole lot we would like to talk to you of our future prospects with our dear daughter, and in what direction you wish to take her. We told Patricia that soon I would be able to afford a TV, and she could watch her cartoons again every Saturday and laugh with me like she used to, and have heroes to look up to, as I believe when Patricia has no one else to turn to, she can look up to her favorite cartoon characters, and make her pass through these tumultuous times with grace and hope.

I see her praying to God by the windowsill sometimes, and I listen to her prayers. She says that she wishes she could see clearly again, she wishes that her friend, the stuffed peacock she dubbed Mr. Peacock, would come visit her and she could play so many games with her again, and she could have so many friends and so much love that she could barely take anymore in her heart. And I hope the same for her too. Oh Patricia, you poor, fallen angel of mine…

Please come to dinner with us, and we can have a nice chat and a discussion with what you wish to do with Patricia, and have her be filled with hopes and dreams again, and become a real girl with real happiness and real sincerity.

Sincerely,

Mr. Rossok

_August, 1945_

Dear Doctor Avian,

The Nazis and Japanese have lost all their power. Hitler was killed like he rightfully deserved. Peace has spread over us for now, and the Second World War has ended. And Patricia was given a new pair of eyes and a new pair of arms, like you promised.

We thank you, but Doctor Avian, even if relief has washed us like a cleansing ocean tide, yet there is more anxiety on the shore. As I believe the trauma from what happened at Auschwitz has made our daughter somewhat neurotic and on edge, as while she is much happier as she has been the past year, sometimes she gets extremely nervous and snaps at me and my wife, and when she gets frustrated at her peers sometimes she slams her fists against her knees and wishes that every single one of them are dead and will never bother her again or tease her because of her strange eyes that are no longer china blue but black, like the very pupils of the cartoon characters she grew to love and nearly worship, and her strange red eyes that gaze and stare at all the classmates on her arms, and I just never saw her act like this before since we were at Auschwitz and she wished death on Hitler, but she was actually wishing death on children, some even being her friends. And I noticed that ever since she had the augmentations our little Patricia actually absolutely refuses any vegetables or meat or anything we try to get her to eat that actually has real nutrition, but lately I've seen my daughter getting into the cookies and the candy much more often than she used to. And sometimes she would go an entire day just eating nothing but junk food.

We tell her all about why she needs to eat her veggies and her meat and fish and bread like she was a much older, more sophisticated child, but yet she told us that all she could stand to eat were sweets, and absolutely nothing else seemed to satisfy her tongue. I've heard of children who are spoiled by their American families and eat nothing but sweets and baked goods grow up to have unhealthy minds and unhealthy attitudes and unhealthy body weight and structure, and I absolutely do not want my darling Patricia to end up like the children I see on the playground who can barely run, lest walk, because of all the crap they eat because nothing else seems to appease them. I just can't imagine it. And sometimes she would talk to us in a shrill, high-pitched voice, with her metallic arms raised so high, screaming, "Mommy! Daddy! Pay attention to me! Pay attention! Mommy! Daddy! If you don't pay attention to me, I will cry!" And then that is what she will do. She cries. Simply because she wanted to say something to us when we were in the middle of talking to another adult.

Patricia is 6 years old now, four years since we escaped from Auschwitz from the man who is now dead without us every saying thank you to him and four years since the awful black-toothed Nazi had taken away Patricia's sight and use of her arms and one of her legs. And we feel like it is beginning to affect her deeply. We have taught Patricia on brushing her teeth and brushing her hair and taking baths, but yet there are times where we literally have to force her to do those things. Sometimes her hair is a spider-webbed mess. Sometimes her teeth are absolutely yellow from her eating candy and sweets all the time as absolutely nothing else will go into her mouth. Sometimes she looks so pale and grimy and dirty that we have to carry her into the bathtub and she would protest and even shrilly cuss us out. She called my wife a whore and slut. Doctor Avian, she is only six years old and she has learned to use that kind of language in my own home against her own mother! I fear that the cartoons are having a negative effect on her shortly after I bought a brand new TV, and now she doesn't pay attention in class and only sits in front of the telly, while eating mouthfuls of chocolate and chips. Doctor Avian, what have we done to our child? I feel like very slowly, if Patricia doesn't get help for this, she may become a full-blown monster when she is an adult, even when she is a teen! I fear the worst for my child. While the physical therapy and the surgeries and machine parts she was given have helped her a great deal in getting around, she has become more negative, more hurt, more violent and more vengeful on the men who changed her life forever.

Doctor Avian, is there possibly a list of doctors you could refer us to? I'm afraid that my child, who is only six years of age, may need to see a psychologist. I am not sure of such a thing as children seeing psychologists exist, but I fear my child may be becoming a little…crazy. And I just cannot imagine that.

My Patricia is still a fallen angel who hasn't gained back her wings to hope and happiness. I hope you can help us in helping her hurt soul. She talks to her brand new stuffed Mr. Peacock and I swear I've heard her ask the stuffed toy if he wanted to kill someone. My child cannot be crazy. My child cannot be the same as a schizophrenic much like my great grandfather was, can she?

I hope to God not. He saved us, but I wonder if He is sending my daughter to Hell again.

Sincerely,

Mr. Rossok

_November, 1945_

Dear Doctor Avian,

We decided to make Patricia see a psychologist. And you know what he said to my darling, precious daughter, who's only six years old? That she should be taken to an asylum. That she said that she wanted to kill us and that she believes that the cartoon characters inside her TV are real. Doctor Avian, I have never heard of such ridiculous bullshit in my life. I'm sorry to use language here, but from my understanding of insane asylums, they are awful, disgusting, dark, and hopeless places where I am very sure that they will keep my daughter for years and years and years and I will never get to see her again. Doctor Avian, please tell me, will my own daughter be okay? I am very concerned about Patricia, my darling angel, my illumination in my life, I want her to be like she was before the Gestapo took her away and made her into this wretched automation, shining and smiling and bright and full of laughter and love. But Patricia is no longer full of love, Doctor Avian. She claims she hates us both. She says that she wishes we were dead and that she was never born, and it breaks my fragile heart that she would say this to her own parents, especially those who have cared and loved for her for so long. Have the fucking Nazi pieces of shit done this to her? Have they traumatized my daughter so deeply that she became this child we don't remember giving birth to? I want Patricia to love us again. I want Patricia to have joy in her life again. But she sits glued to the TV and watches her cartoons, not speaking to us. She doesn't pay attention to her teachers nor does her schoolwork anymore. Now it's all about those cartoons. And I'm sick of hearing them! The loud bangs, crashes, yells, shouts, screams, the hammers, the knives, the axes, the anvils, the guns, the deep black eyes like hers and her voice that is loud and brash and shrill and screams and cries and begs and whines! This child is very exhausting on us! She protests taking baths, she protests doing anything, she protests eating her vegetables, she even protests going to bed and going to school! What happened to my child, Doctor Avian? _What happened to my child?_

But no matter how tired we grow of her, she does not deserve the treatment of an insane asylum. She does not deserve the treatment my great grandfather was given. God, please shed light on my dear Patricia! She has lost her way! And I will never forgive Germany for what they did to her! I regret ever living in Brussels! I regret ever thinking that Germany had a good future ahead! I regret ever being friends with Hitler! I regret liking his paintings, and thinking he would be a good dictator!

Doctor Avian, I hate myself and I want to die. Maybe I will let my daughter kill me, like she said she wanted to do one day, or so Mr. Peacock has said to her.

Regretfully,

Mr. Rossok

_March, 1947_

Dear Doctor Avian,

It's been a while since I last contacted you, and I apologize. I have grown ashamed of my confessions to you, and I have grown ashamed of what I revealed to you about my daughter. So it's been a year and nearly a half since I last wrote you a letter. But my God, Avian, my child, what in Sam hell has gotten into her? Her voice completely changed. It's no longer the voice of an innocent and pure child. It is a mocking, screaming, shattering, screeching voice of an angry macaw! And my daughter is eight years old, and she began to smoke cigars! She began to curse her teachers, cursing us, and she grew an interest in the most awful weapon that the Americans have made, the atomic bomb. It was necessary to defeat the Japanese, but my little Patricia began to make bombs in her own backyard. My child! Eight years old! Playing with fire, playing with knives, watching cartoons all day, screeching and yelling, hitting the other children, smoking cigars, eating nothing but bullshit! Sometimes I do feel like I should put her in an insane asylum, Avian! She is absolutely the most intolerable child I have ever seen! She whines, she cries, she screams, she begs, she absolutely is condescending towards us, doesn't realize how hard I work my ass off at the shitty factory I work in that absolutely doesn't pay me enough goddamn nickels and dimes to feed this fucking terrible child, and I take back everything I said about Patricia. She is a fallen angel, but so is Satan. And when I told her that she chimed in that it was better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven.

Avian…

_What happened to her?_

I thought that the augmentations would give her hope and peace and happiness back inside her. But no. You know what you did Doctor Avian? You ripped it right out of her very heart! You made her into this awful, rotten, American child and I am beginning to suspect that it is your fault! Ever since she got the surgeries and everything that would make her better, she became this abomination of a demon spawn! How could this creature come out of my wife's vagina? Doctor Avian, I swear I will fucking make your laboratory cease to exist and make you take away everything from my child and make her nearly blind and nearly paralyzed again. I would rather have her disabled than…this.

You ruined her. I swear you've ruined her. You've made her into this awful creature. My precious Patricia…I can no longer call this creature Patricia. Because Patricia was the child that I loved. I am calling her Peacock, after her favorite animal that has such a decimating and grating voice like hers, and after her fucking eyelids from her arms that stare at me when I try to sleep. Peacock is probably plotting to kill us. And it's your own damn fault she is made into this wretched automation. This wretched hell spawn, this wretched bird!

_I want my daughter back._

Maybe I actually wished that the Nazis would've taken away our daughter from us. So this could never have happened.

Regretfully,

Mr. Rossok

_May, 1947_

Dear Asshole,

No, I can't just simply stick in her the insane asylum now. You know how much it will cost when she is in there for years? More money than I could definitely afford right now. And you think this isn't your fault? You think you shouldn't lose your license, lose your money, and lose your God forsaken laboratory? And maybe you're right that we make damned good lawyers. Because I will sue every single goddamn penny. I will bring so much evidence against you that you've done this to my Patricia that you wouldn't even be able to defend yourself! I left my wife, by the way. Just for a little bit. I'm dating another woman. I've been drinking a little. I've been hanging out in bars just to forget about Peacock. I can't stand hearing her laughter anymore as she talks to her friend Mr. Peacock and watches her cartoons! Mr. Peacock keeps telling her to kill us. And when I get all the money from you, I will ship her to the loony bin and never take her back out. She can have that as her new home and have the nurses be her new mommy and daddy for all I care. You say you're too powerful? You say I can't bring your laboratory down? You say that you have an even bigger threat than the Nazis to take care of? Fuck you. Fuck you and fuck you ever making my daughter into this awful machine. I should've moved to somewhere else in England. I should've never come to America. I swear this country's morals are making her this way. And I'm sure you are to blame too you bastard. You took my daughter away from me. You are worse than the Nazis. You are worse than Hitler. You have taken away from me the most valuable thing in my life.

I don't know if I want to go on anymore.

I don't know if I want to go on, living this lie for the rest of my life.

You took her away from me.

I will never forgive you.

You are the one who is Satan. Not Peacock. Not Patricia. You are the one who is making my daughter the way she is. My darling Patricia…I am becoming as insane as her. As wretched as her. As much as an automation as her. I am becoming dead inside. I did die at Auschwitz. None of this is real. This is Hell. I have believed in the wrong religion. Maybe the Jews are the weak blood. But I cannot be in the same league as a man who has killed six million of us in cold blood. I cannot be. I cannot be. I cannot be.

And neither is my darling Peacock. My darling Patricia.

Go to hell. But you are already inside it. You have black wings and black hooves and red skin and yellow fangs and decrepit eyes. You are Satan. I believe this. You are Hitler. Hitler isn't dead. He is still alive. He just simply lived on inside your body. You killed me. You killed my daughter. I am among the six million Jews dead from the holocaust. You are a despicable man. I will never forgive you. I hate you.

Mr. Rossok

_June, 1948_

Satan,

Peacock made a bomb out of her magic 8-balls and put a hole in the house. We cannot afford to repair it. We are going to freeze when winter comes. Yet I don't hate Peacock. She used to be Patricia. I cried and hugged Peacock, which of course she reviled my touch, but she is a sick girl. She is nine now. She is insane. She could be manic depressive. Schizophrenic. Psychopathic. Borderline. I don't know. But I love her. I want to help her. I cannot afford to put her with another doctor. A psychiatrist who could prescribe medicine. Someone to love her and care for her. I give her candy whenever she wants. I let her not bathe when she doesn't want to. She no longer goes to school. I let her watch all the cartoons she wants, no matter how violent. I want to love her. And I don't know what is good parenting anymore. She talks to her toys like they are people. Even I am starting to believe that they are alive. I swore that Mr. Peacock began to grin with that sharp jagged smirk that Peacock gives me when she is thinking of something evil. My wife is cheating on me too, but I don't care. She can fuck another man and stay with me. My life belongs to Peacock now. I want to make her happy and love me again. I want her to be alive again. I want her to be Patricia again. But you killed her. You murdered her. I will never have Patricia back. I will never have that love and closeness in our family ever since the Gestapo took us away, ever since Hitler began to rise to power. When my wife was pregnant with her, I thought we would have a happy family. I thought God would bless us. But even I am beginning to renounce my faith, like Patricia began to so many years ago.

There is no God. Only you.

Mr. Rossok

_December, 1948_

Christmas came and Christmas went. No one got a damn thing.

_March, 1949_

Patricia is still gone. Peacock still remains. Miss her miss her. She smokes cigars in our faces. She still watches cartoons even if I can't afford the TV bill anymore. I give up. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.

That means you. Kill me. Kill me like you killed my daughter.

_1950_

I STARTED WATCHING CARTOONS TOO! THEY'RE REALLY FUNNY! BANG BANG SMASH SMASH! HAHA! PEACOCK IS A WHOLE LOT OF FUN! WE EAT SO MUCH CANDY AND JUNK FOOD UNTIL WE PUKE! MR. PEACOCK TELLS ME THAT SOMETHING WORSE THAN THE NAZIS WILL COME! I AM EXCITED! I AM EXCITED FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WORLD! I WANT ANOTHER WORLD WAR! I WANT ANOTHER HITLER! I WANT ANOTHER HOLOCAUST! I WANT SIX MILLION MORE PEOPLE TO DIE! MAYBE PEACOCK WILL KILL THEM ALL! GOD BLESS PEACOCK, IF THERE IS A GOD! HEHE! HOHO! HAHA!

MY WIFE IS DEAD! PEACOCK STABBED HER IN THE FACE! SO MUCH BLOOD COVERED HER APRON AND HER FACE AND EYES! ISN'T THAT FUNNY? I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING FUNNIER IN THIS GODDAMN WORLD!

_I DON'T KNOW WHAT YEAR IT IS!_

WE'RE HOMELESS NOW! PEACOCK HASN'T KILLED ME YET! SHE SAYS SHE LOVES ME AND I'M THE ONLY ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS HER IN THIS SAD LONELY WORLD! THAT'S HILARIOUS! ZIP! ZOOP! PAH! HEHE! PEACOCK STILL WATCHES CARTOONS AND I LOVE THEM! WOW! PEACOCK IS THE ONLY GOD I CAN UNDERSTAND IN THIS WORLD! PRAISE BE TO PEACOCK! PRAISE BE TO THE DEATH OF MY WIFE! HAHA! WOAH! PRAISE BE TO YOU, YOU WONDERFUL EMPEROR, FOR SHOWING ME WHO IS TRULY GOD, FOR SHOWING ME THE WAY! I AM ENLIGHTENED! I AM FREE! I AM AS FREE AS A PEACOCK! I LOVE MY DAUGHTER! I LOVE HER WITH ALL MY HEART! I WILL LOVE HER FOREVER AND EVER! UNTIL THE THIRD WORLD WAR COMES OVER US LIKE SHARP BLADED KNIVES AND KILLS US ALL! I'M EXCITED! HEHE! HOHO! MAY PEACOCK BLESS YOU! AND MAY PEACOCK BLESS HITLER TOO!

_August, 1952_

Dear Doctor Avian,

I am writing to you from an insane asylum. I let Peacock go into the world like a bird should when it's fully grown with its wings full of beautiful deep blue velvet feathers and its green emerald tail filled with fiery eyes, even if she is only 13 years old. I have done all I can for her, and I believe it is time for her to fly. She says she will kill all the Russians. All the Skull Girls. Whoever they are. Because Mr. Peacock told her too. And Mr. Peacock tells the truth.

Unfortunately, Peacock loved me. She couldn't kill me. She says she will miss me when she grows lonely. And when I released her, I swear I could see a little bit of the daughter I used to have, named Patricia, who loved me with all her full heart and all her faith in God.

However, I still do not believe in God. If he was real, he wouldn't let me suffer through this life. I went through possibly the greatest catastrophe in human history yet I survived that, but yet I cannot survive this. Just to let you know Doctor Avian, I am committing suicide. I cannot see myself going on with this wretched life. My wife was murdered by Peacock. But yet I still love her. I understand she did it for a reason. Because Mr. Peacock told her to. And he has the voice of the Fuhrer, as the Russians, the Skullgirls, were the true evil scum of this world. They are building a nuclear bomb to destroy the United States. And only Peacock can stop them. In the end, she murdered one life, but she is saving millions. It is much better than what Hitler did, but yet the Fuhrer lives on in Mr. Peacock. You cannot truly defeat evil in this world, Dr. Avian. It simply reincarnates over time. As one evil figure appears in time, yet another will be revealed, a new Anti-Christ. Napoleon. Stalin. Hitler. King Louis XVI. They all have something in common. They are simply reincarnating Anti-Christ's. As the world turns we will receive a new one. Because Satan never truly gives up. There will always be good and evil in this world. One cannot exist without the other.

But yet, the world must exist without me.

You have ruined everything. But yet you have pieced together everything too. You have warned us against the Skullgirls. You have made Peacock into a weapon and ruined her mind with creating her weapons. You simply weren't giving her a second chance at life. You were making her into a warrior. And I apologize to everything I have said to you, because none of it truly matters now. My life has been nothing but that black pit that are the same color as Peacock's eyes. It was me who has been truly suffering, not my daughter, although Patricia, the girl I loved and raised and hoped would be revived since the Nazis killed her, could not be revived. Peacock took over. Peacock had to keep living on in a world full of dismal hate and bitterness. It was the only way to survive, but I can't here. Peacock has what it takes to help us against the Skullgirls. But I cannot live on. The golden light in my life is becoming smaller, only a wicker of flame.

I apologize to my wife, who I never truly loved. Who I abandoned when Peacock emerged. She deserved better. She deserved better than this. She never knew what she was getting into when we decided to become Jewish. She never knew what was going to happen since Patricia was inside her.

This was all an elaborate plan just to awaken Peacock, wasn't it?

I mean, the man who was in Auschwitz who is dead now was possibly hired by you. Hitler was hired by you. My wife was hired by you to conceive Patricia. Isn't that right? And I am just simply a pawn in this awful war. Someone to throw away when his use was done with.

And I am fulfilling your wish.

Peacock, if you ever get a hold of this message, I just wanted to say, that I love you, and I will always cherish you. Both you and Patricia.

May the peacock crow at the dawn's crack upon the earth. May it bring upon a new revolution, a new beginning, one with a God and no hate. May it soon never bring such an event like the Holocaust, ever again on this beautiful world.

And may my daughter's path be filled with light, my beautiful, fragile, fallen angel. And may she find the courage to laugh again like she did when she was a child, full of mirth, full of joy, full of happiness.

Farwell. And may the peacock forever fly and show the world with its fanned tail how beautiful it truly is.


End file.
